Book Key

Many have asked for specific interpretation of poems in my book indicated below.

This is it . . .

Key to Somehow One Knows When A Moment Will Freeze Becoming Eternal: First Edition

ISBN-10: 0-615-12965-X

ISBN-13: 978-0615129655

Author: Joseph C Parrish

Publisher: Shannon Bay Press

Copyright: 2005

Pages: 80

The following key indicates page number, title, and brief interpretation:

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2. Of Place and Person: This poem indicates a particular foyer at the top of a stairwell in the Carr Building on the campus of Durham School of the Arts. Each morning, I briefly paused at this magical place to sense its history (the stairwell appears on the cover of the book). Carr Building is 94 years old.

2. Cracked Paint and Violins: The main building at Durham School of the Arts is very old; the structure is failing. Yet, the halls echo each morning with sound of violin coming from violin classes on the third floor. Such a contrast. This poem is about DSA.

3. Window and Light: Also about Durham School of the Arts. Once, while standing in the ISS room above the auditorium, a single raw of morning light suddenly entered a window and moved slowly around the room, stopping on me, as if curious to know who I was, a newcomer to a very ancient place.

4. My Night Shadowed Trees: Each day after work, I stop on campus at the stone wall in front of the main quad (borders Franklin Street, half way between Silent Sam and the Planetarium) to have an after-dinner cigar. This one is about that place.

5. Cemetery: One Sunday afternoon around 30 years ago, on our way back from visiting Grandma in Durham, my family stopped at a remote cemetery to visit the grave of Aunt Grace (grandpa's sister) who had recently passed away. We were all present on that day, including Dad. And, we were all dressed in our Sunday best. I recall our silence; a light breeze touched us as we stood at that spot. Then, Mom began to explain to little five-year-old Rosie where Aunt Grace was. Certainly a moment frozen in time.

6. Blanket of North Carolina: This one is about a family picnic at Durham's Camp Hollow Rock back in 1966. I still think of this day as I drive around Durham. So few people know that Camp Hollow Rock is back there. It is a hidden treasure and deeply a part of my heart and soul. If there is a Heaven, it will be a picnic at Camp Hollow Rock with family and friends. This poem records subtle nuance of feeling.

7. Past in Present: While teaching at Durham School of the Arts, I often felt as if I were in the past, due to the age of the building, the furniture and decor, and conduct of students. This poem is about DSA, varnished yellow floors that squeak as you walk, and odor of mildew.

8. Yearning: This one recalls a particular picnic at South Gate Park in California around 1967. The picnic started in afternoon and extended into evening. All were present: Aunt Marie, Uncle Joe, Aunt Rosalie, Mom and Dad. We sat in a circle and laughed and had fun. I call them "pseudo pillars" of my world. They were so eternal then; they are all departed now. This poem also makes mention of Mr. O'Gwin, an elderly man who was my second grade school teacher in South Gate, California. I remember his kindness and patience, forty-five years later. He taught me how to finger paint.

9. To Plant a Seed: This one makes reference to my students. It's sometimes difficult to remember that the things I do and say now will be most relative very far in the future, long after I'm gone. I truly miss talking to Mr. Roberts, my drafting teacher from Orange High School in Hillsborough, NC.

9. Forest Rain: I spent at least two weeks trying to write this poem. I once stood by Battle Forest after a spring rain. From that point, I spent the next few weeks trying to capture that experience in words; it was not easy.

10. Mom's Moon: A special poem. On the night of my Mom's death, my brother Troy mentioned that while coming home from dinner that evening, Mom spoke of how beautiful the moon was. In this poem, I compare her to the moon.

11. The Pond: Recently, I went back to Bobby Smith's pond in Schley, near our old farm house. I had not been back there in many years. This poem captures my feelings while there alone. So many things had happened in my life to make me different somehow. I was stunned at how the pond, and its nature, was completely unchanged and unaffected. It was as if I had never left. Time was frozen. I felt like a little boy again. CLICK HERE TO HEAR THE POND - (difficult to put into words. Photo of Bobby Smith's pond is at bottom of this page.)

12. Attic Window: Each morning while walking up a particular path at Durham School of the Arts, I always noticed a very small and ornate attic window near the top of the school's roof. This poem indicates my reflection of what might be up there. I was delighted one day when a student compared the attic window, and this poem, to an old man in a retirement home. Wow! A future poet.

13. Darkness: While working at Major Business Systems, I sometimes got off at 2:00 AM each morning. Before getting into my car, I would look up to observe the stars and moon and deep blackness of sky. This poem is about that experience. I was working at night and going to college during the day. CLICK HERE TO HEAR THE NIGHT - (difficult to put into words)

14. Steps on My Path: This poem reflects upon they who came before. It makes reference to a particular stairway in front of the gym at Durham School of the Arts.

15. Bus Stop: The quarter mile walk up the driveway to the bus stop at Schley was amazing. This poem captures that morning adventure, which my brothers and sisters will remember well. Once, while teaching a class on creative writing at the Chapel Hill Parks and Recreation department, a student stated that this poem "doesn't sound real . . .;" she said "it sounds like magic." I smiled and said, "it was magic."

16. Absence: This poem was written after I caught Mom sitting alone in the parlor during a Christmas party at Buck and Janna's; everybody else was having fun in other parts of the house. Dad and Aunt Rosalie had recently passed away. And, I sensed that Mom felt very much alone and misunderstood, as she was surrounded by the youth who really had no true sense of what her life was like before we all were born. Mom passed away within a matter of weeks after that dinner.

16. The Oak: This poem is about my favorite and most faithful friend, the timeless old oak tree at Schley, always there, always true.

17. Dignity: I wrote this poem after a disturbing encounter with a school bus driver at DSA in Durham. The encounter made me conclude that I will always hold in high esteem my great sense of dignity toward others, despite the nonsensical behavior that others frequently exhibit.

18. Angel: Mom placed a picture of an angel guiding two children across a bridge on my bedroom wall. I remember lying in bed as a child at night, staring at this picture. As an aged adult, I still think of the angel and wait for her to guide me across the bridge of life. And, I often wonder if she is real or only a picture. This poem is about that picture. (picture appears at the bottom of this page.)

19. Newness: This poem expresses my excitement upon first being introduced to Durham School of the Arts, which is the old Durham High School. While working at DSA, I became fascinated by its history.

19. The Wall: I often go to the wall in front of Silent Sam statue on UNC campus to have a cigar in the evenings. For the past twenty years, I have also sat there on Christmas Eve, during my Christmas Eve jog. Anyway, the church across the street always has a Christmas Eve ceremony. And, as the people exit the church, they always look at me with curiosity, as I do the same to them. This poem is about being at the wall.

20. Becky: A poem about a girl I went out with during high school and after, Becky Landis. She was killed in an auto accident soon after graduation . . . my first such experience. This poem is about a conversation she and I had on the campus of UNC Chapel Hill one night a few weeks before her death.

21. Sanctuary: This poem is about being in Mom's kitchen in Schley, while playing Monopoly with Uncle Tommy and Aunt Wanda at night (no internet back in the 1960s). This is the country house that is early 19th century and miles from the nearest neighbor.

22. Morning Flood Plain: This poem is my attempt to capture a beautiful scene I observed near University Mall one morning while driving to work. The early morning sun rays were mixed with a heavy low hanging fog. I jotted down this reflection after my arrival at work that day.

23. Driveway: This poem is an attempt to capture feelings of walking at night down that long driveway at our country home in Schley. Wow!

24. Ag Fair: This poem captures the experience of participating in Orange High School's annual Agricultural Fair, a wonderful experience.

25. Starling Place: When I was a teenager on the farm, I had a special place that I went to; I called it "Starling Place." Each evening, I would stretch out in tall grass and watch hundreds of Starlings make their nightly ritual flight over an old chimney in the middle of a field. To truly understand this phenomenon, one has to experience it. Ironically, a group of Starlings have been nesting in an old chimney here in my town of Chapel Hill. I often sit on the wall downtown and watch them swirl over the chimney as a giant tornado, before crowding into the chimney for nighttime sleep. I am taken back to my youth.

26. Back Porch at Night: This poem is about the screened back porch at Schley - the farm house. While growing up, I spent hours out there alone, gazing into the vast darkness behind our house, listening to night sounds, and feeling so small. I can still close my eyes and sense the wonder and every detail of that little back porch, its flickering light bulb and nylon string, moths fluttering against a dark screen, trying to get in, cool air, the vanguard of deep night, coming up off freshly plowed fields. CLICK HERE TO HEAR THE BACK PORCH AT NIGHT - (difficult to put into words.)

27. Rain: Many of my poems are about being on the farm in Schley. This poem captures the experience of a thunderstorm at Schley. Today, thunderstorms in my life are almost a nuisance. In my youth, they were an amazing adventure and great entertainment.

28. City of Ghosts: This poem is about Downtown Durham. The poem mentions "monument of my family, and keeper of vaults." I make reference here to funeral gravestones and grave vaults that store the remains of my family members who are buried in Durham. This poem is published on the city of Durham's website.

29. Home: This poem is about my visit to the old homesite at Schley. The house is gone . . . only concrete steps and a stone foundation remain. The sweet voices and vivid memories will never fade; they are eternal.

29. Victoria: Victoria is the main character in my novel called Carolina Angel. And, this poem is actually a scene from that novel in which Victoria becomes lost in the tiny world of an ant, then suddenly looks up to become lost in the large world of a hawk flying overhead. It's one of my favorite scenes. I almost feel as if Victoria is real; I guess an author has to be passionate about characters to make them seem real.

30. Night: This is perhaps one of my favorite poems; it is important to me; it somehow captures the very essence of my soul. This poem expresses feelings of being at Open House night at Hillsborough's Stanford Junior High School back in 1972. Mom was inside talking to teachers while I sat outside on a curb and waited under a soft moon, head in hands. Suddenly, I look up and Ann Latta is standing in front of me, smiling . . . young love! Will it ever be the same? Can I somehow wind the clock back? Ann, where are you now? I've thought of you every day since graduation in 1976.

31. Antithesis: Which means, direct opposite. This poem contrasts beauty of youth (the "yellow flower") to ancient physical structure, a very old building.

32. To Write: I often walk through the old cemetery on campus of UNC. While there, I desire to know about each and every deceased. But, most of the grave stones contain only a name and date; I am frustrated by this. In addition, I often become frustrated that my grandparents and great grandparents never recorded in writing their feelings and thoughts. I want to know them, but can't. I need their guidance. But, it is not there. I myself have written long letters of encouragement, guidance, and support to my unborn children and grandchildren. I want them to know that I think of them often, even though they are not yet born.

32. Distance Dance: While teaching at East Chapel Hill High School, our Social Studies Department spent a month converting our black-box theater into a Speakeasy of the 1920s. This poem is an attempt to capture how amazing it felt to be in that Speakeasy. My students did a wonderful job on its construction. And, I truly felt as if I had stepped back in time once entering - baby grand piano, jazz band, low lights, candles, flappers, dark suits, cards and dancing.

33. Light Under the Door: This poem is one I wrote many years ago. And, it has been re-written many times, often after conversation with my sisters over its construction. It expresses how I felt as a child while in bed watching the light under the door and hearing the voices of my parents in the living room. About four years after I wrote this poem, I saw an episode of that TV show called "The Wonder Years" in which the main character is doing the same thing. OK . . . how did the writer steal my idea?

34. Schuyler, VA.: This poem is about my trip to Schuyler, Virginia, home of the "real" Walton Mountain and home of the original "John Boy," who is Earl Hamner, the writer. I have enjoyed his writings. And, I can certainly see how his boyhood town could inspire him to write. Schuyler is an amazing place of inspiration, a secluded bowl in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. While visiting the school's museum there, I found lots of photos of graduating students from the 20's and 30's and 40's. Then, I visited the town cemetery and saw those same names on gravestones. Wow!! This was so strange to see.

35. The Apple Trees: This poem is about that neat row of Apple trees on the farm at Schley. My brothers and sisters and I loved to climb the trees and feast on giant green apples. This poem contains lots of descriptive narrative, including apple sauce in toes, and yellow-jackets.

36. Refuge and Root Beer: This poem perhaps captures the most distant feeling in my life. It goes way back. I must have been five or six years old when Mom and Aunt Rosalie took us kids to A&W Root Beer chain restaurant in Los Angeles, California, for root beer. I remember every detail. I'm unusual in that way; I remember details of my life as far back as three years old. In this poem, I even describe raindrops on the windshield, and a slow-moving windshield wiper.

37. Spectacle: This poem is about my favorite time of year, fall. I love watching the transformation from summer to fall. And, I love remembering past falls.

38. Time to See: This is about Durham School of the Arts, which I call the "parlor of peace and flowers." The poem mentions me "standing alone in a crowded spot." Very true. My vision of DSA was of the many who came before, its history and magic. I often felt as if others could not or would not see as much.

38. Time to Listen: Again, about Durham School of the Arts. If you listen closely, you can hear voices of they who came before, figuratively speaking.

39. Sam: About my little sister (I call her Sam - a long story). Once, while I was sitting under the oak at Schley, little five year old Rosie stepped out the door. She stood on the steps of our country home and gazed out across miles of open field . . . such a serious expression. I don't think she knew that I was watching as she stood there alone, thinking . . . but about what? At five years old, she seemed so intense. She's the only one of us to receive her Phd - I now call her "Dr. Sam."

41. Daddy: This is not about my dad, but about myself. I go to the same beach often, Atlantic Beach of NC. I always park at the state park, near Fort Macon, and walk down to the beach. When I do, I pass empty picnic table structures, and always stop and look. It's almost as if I can see and hear the family which is absent. This poem mentions Lisa, who is my unborn child. She asks her Mom: "why is Daddy alone?"

41. Place: Again about being at Atlantic Beach in North Carolina during summer.

42. Pier: About sitting on the pier at Atlantic Beach at night.

43. Festival and Hand: This is about going to Hillsborough Hog Day event. That event always takes place in summer, just after a school year ends. It's a nice way to unwind from the hectic pace of a busy school year. And, I've always considered Hillsborough to be a timeless and magical place.

45. You Don't Know Me: This poem is about walking back from the "Ghost Town" (an abandoned Dairy Farm complex) in Schley. Only my brothers will fully understand that experience. I'm so glad that I have had the opportunity to experience it. During this walk, I often "spoke to the magnificent sunset," if that makes any sense.

45. The Barn: About the old barn in Schley, "draped upon the soil." I recall standing at its door, gazing in, sharp strands of evening light breaking through broken board, and a single piece of dust, suspended in still and musky air, floating timelessly. Perhaps it is still there.

46. Return to the River: This is about a visit to the river behind our farm house in Schley. As a child, I sat by that river often, watching water move over smooth, round stones, thinking about the same thing always, my mysterious future. As an aged adult, I think always about my past, the trickle of gentle rapids and light reflecting off river water.

47. Mom's Candles: I visited Mom's home on the night before her death. When I walked in, the house was filled with lit candles everywhere. I asked why she had lit candles everywhere. She said: "I don't know; I just want the place to be nice." It was as if Mom somehow knew. I miss talking to you Mom!

48. Ice Lodge: This one captures the feeling of waking up to a major ice storm at our farm house in Schley (Hence: the background music on this page - Ice Castles); everything, trees, grass, bushes, house, barn, coated in thick ice, a world of dripping glass that shimmered in sunlight.

49. Revival: This is about being at Welcome Baptist Church in Hillsborough during revival week. I like this poem because it talks about the "true service" that begins after the formal meeting. This is when we intermingled with our friends, our "other" family, for hours.

50: Pine Cone: This poem captures a very distant memory. I was probably five years old when Mom and Dad took my brothers and I to Big Bear Lake in California for vacation. We were living in a suburb of Los Angeles at the time. I remember seeing snow for the first time, and of holding a large and cold pine cone in the palm of my hands. Isn't it amazing how certain memories become eternal? My Dad took black-and-white movies of this trip (no sound), which I still have.

51. Waiting: I probably wait too much. I need for somebody to kick me really hard to force me to get out there and do the things that I want to do before I die.

51. La Puente Suburb: This one again captures very distant memories. We moved to La Puente when I was five years old and left two years later. I recall so much about that two years. My brothers and I wrapped a back yard picnic table in chicken wire and made a little door on one side. We then built a dash board using cardboard and old wood. That was our car. We would get into that machine and pretend that we were driving across the country to visit Grandma and Grandpa in North Carolina (My new Toyota Yaris reminds me of that picnic table car). And, Mom and Dad had a large bay window in their bedroom at the La Puente House. I remember climbing onto the window sill to pretend that the bay window was a large front window of a giant space ship; I was the captain. I had a wild imagination!

53. My Students: I sometimes feel a great responsibility toward my students. Some truly look to me for answers about not just history, but about life. Once, a student asked me where God is. Another student once asked what's beyond the universe. Both students were sincere.

54. Caldwell Hall: Caldwell Hall is the philosophy building on campus. I had a few classes in that building while a student at UNC. Many are unaware that this building was the only hospital in Chapel Hill back in the 1930s and 1940s. In fact, the morgue is still untouched in the basement. It's being used as a dark storage area. I once went down there with some friends. Anyway, when I ride my bike by Caldwell Hall, I stop and gaze at the structure. I can hear voices, figuratively speaking, of they who hurt there, and of children who were scared. To me, it is more than a Philosophy Building. It is a place of healing and of pain, and, a portal to another world.

55. A Place of Rest: This is about my college apartment of course. I lived there for years after graduation, not wanting to let go of being a college kid. It's just next to the campus of the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. It will always be my place of rest.

56. Remembering the Wheat: As teenagers, my brothers and I worked on a thousand acre farm. We did lots of types of jobs. But, the one that was most memorable was gathering bales of straw in freshly cut wheat fields. This was one of my two most difficult poems to write. I still believe that I did not adequately capture the true feelings of being in a giant wheat field immediately after the wheat had been cut . . . it's a giant carpet of crunchy yellow stalk.

57. Time: When both my parents passed away, a veil was indeed lifted. I was suddenly able to see things clearly. My parents suddenly became very smart. I could see everything from their perspective. I wish I could wind the clock back. I wish I could talk to Mom and Dad, knowing what I now know about life and death. My greatest frustration is seeing myself in my students daily, before I became "enlightened."

58. Interlude: One of the things I like about living in North Carolina, and about being a teacher, is the "snow day." No matter how fast and wild things become at school, our higher power can force me to stop with a soft, silent, and gentle snow. I feel like these days are gifts. I am forced to read and drink hot chocolate and light my home with candles. During snow days, I feel the pressure leave my soul.

58. My Bug: This is about my 1966 Volkswagen beetle, my first car. Mom cosigned for it. I know she had reservations about doing so. I know she was glad she did later as she saw how serious I was about maintenance of good credit. I loved that little machine so much; and I miss it!

60. Secret Visit: This is about a dream I had one night. I dreamed an Angel had taken me to Philadelphia to see my Mom while she was a child, before I was born. Strange dream. But, I've been told that it matches the doctrine of the Mormon faith. Mormons believe strongly in a "pre-existence." The angel and I stood outside a playground fence and watched a little girl sitting alone, turning pages of a book, while other children played. "She is you mother" the angel said to me.

60. Being Watched: Another strange poem I guess. While fishing at Jordan Lake alone, I often feel as if I'm being watched by "quiet entities," perhaps my departed father and grandfather. Who knows. But, the feeling is always there. I'm never afraid. In fact, I sometimes feel safe because of this feeling. Before Dad passed away, he told me that he wanted to go fishing with me. We had never done this all our lives. As he became ill, this is all he wanted to do and all he talked about.

62. To Deny: This poem is about my daughter Lisa, a life that should have been. Knowing that, the poem should make more sense to you. I think of Lisa daily, and hurt deeply that she is not here with me.

62. Vision: This is perhaps my most technical and complicated poem. In this poem, I am trying to express how my great, great ancestors in Italy probably wondered about what their offspring and great, great grandchildren would be like. And, I myself often wonder about my great, great ancestors in Italy. The poem says that at some point, "our gaze meets;" they are looking forward while I am looking back.

63. Nestled: This poem is about being at Aunt Amelia's house in Los Angeles. We lived down the street and often stayed there while Mom was busy doing things. I remember taking naps in Aunt Amelia's bedroom. She had a piano in the living room. She would play softly. I can remember being in her bed while listing to hypnotic piano tones, gentle, slow tones that appeared to float above my head, as if I could reach out and touch them, while soft white curtains would rise gently in a California breeze. CLICK HERE TO HEAR THE PIANO - (by Free Piano MIDI) (difficult to put into words - I close my eyes and I am seven years old again, safe in Aunt Amelia's bed).

64. Belonging: This poem is about my life, from age 20 to age 35, in what I now consider a silly cult. I left the group years ago (a very long story). I sometimes miss "belonging" to it; it felt good to "belong." At the same time, I lean on myself now for strength, and not on others. And, I feel good about this. I shall never return to this group.

65. Again: This poem makes reference to the difficult students that I am forced to confront before I can move forward. Teaching is a difficult occupation. Just when everything seems to be going smooth, a rebellious teen will challenge you.

65. Proximity: This poem is about my excitement with having found Durham School of the Arts, the old Durham High School. I had searched all my life for a truly "special" place. That "special" place was always just under my own nose, in downtown Durham.

66. Of Time Passed: This poem is about a contradiction in my life. I live in a beautiful home, in a beautiful city, but sometimes feel a void . . . what's missing? Betty Friedan wrote about such a void in her book "the Feminine Mystique." She called it the "problem with no name."

67. Dream of South Gate: When we were living in South Gate, California, Mom and Aunt Rosalie frequently took us kids to South Gate Park's Olympic size pool. We were always thrilled to be there. This poem captures the sights and sounds of that place, the most vivid of which is sitting with Mom and Aunt Rosalie under an umbrella-covered table, wrapped in a large fluffy towel, eating a cherry snow-cone.

68. Magic Kingdom: This is a short version of a very long essay that I wrote called Coming Back to Durham. It is self-explanatory. The essay has been entered into various writing contests.

70. To Know: This poem is about my appreciation for people who are sincere, and about my impatience with people who want to play silly mind games. I will always walk away from the games.

71. Shelter of Poetry: This poem is about how poetry, and writing in general, has saved me, time-and-time again. It enables me to slip back into the past, to look around and see things, as if I were actually there. Once, after writing the poem called "revival," somebody called on the phone. While talking to this person, I almost indicated that I had seen Clevo Wilson on that very day - he was the pastor of Welcome Baptist Church - the subject of my poem. I'm so glad that I didn't say this because Clevo Wilson passed away twenty years earlier. Yet, after writing this poem about his church, I truly felt as if I had been back there, and had watched Clevo Wilson preach on that very day . . . poetry can take you back! Once, while writing the poem called "Yearning," I closed my eyes and tried to visualize my second grade school teacher in California, from over four decades ago; I saw the teacher; But, I also found myself seeing once again the very unique cabinets in his classroom. Wow! It's as if I was there again, a second grader, sitting in that classroom observing the cabinet designs. I like writing poetry because it takes me back to the past.

72. To Know Oneself: This is about my ability to see inward. I know myself very well. And, I feel certain that I am on the right path.

73. A Gift: My poems are my gift. Whitman left his behind, as will I.

74. Ruslana: A tribute to a gentle spirit whom the world misses deeply.

FROM SECOND EDITION

2. Suburb: As a child, I played for hours in dirt beside our La Puente home . . . that was my world - red and pink geraniums, gas meter that made strange sounds, the lady bug, puddle of water, and spiders. I was only five years old. Yet, it was somehow just yesterday. I remember lying in bed at night, looking at a pastel alphabet and train on the wall, thinking about my day and those things under my bedroom window outside. I have kept this close all my life. This poem is about La Puente, California.

3. To the Grocery Store: While dad was at work, Mom and I walked to the grocery store half a mile away, hand-in-hand. I was only five years old. Yet, I so clearly recall that long hill, a snack, then nap time on the living room rug when we returned home, and Mom's warmth. I call it ". . . my baseline of content, my definition of love." Again, a poem about La Puente, California.

5. Water Break Under Oaks: This poem is about working in the fields during summer on our North Carolina farm. How can I adequately describe walking from a hot field into the immense cool shade of giant oaks, shimmering ice water in dirty Styrofoam cup, and ice-cubes that rattle in a ten gallon aluminum jug? This was a difficult poem to write. The feelings are too deep in my soul.

7. Aaliyah: My tribute to Aaliyah. If only we could somehow wind the clock back.

8. At the Same Time: This one is about getting old.

9. Elvis and Banana Pudding: OK . . . to understand this poem, you MUST be raised in the south. I was at a restaurant in Hillsborough a few years ago, having fried chicken and banana pudding while listening to Elvis on the radio. Wow! What a combination! A flood gate of memories . . . what a tremendous thrill to have been raised on a large farm in the deep south.

11. The Waffle House: Salt and pepper, ketchup, warmth of open grill, sizzle and sweet air, syrup, coffee, and sausage. This poem is about being at the Waffle House. I actually wrote it while having breakfast there.

12. Coming Home from Grandmas: When we first arrived in North Carolina in 1968, my family often visited Grandma's home on Gary Street in Durham. Our forty-five minute drive back to the country usually transpired late. I would always fall asleep in the back of our station wagon, my only good ear pushed against the bottom of the car. It is a lullaby that I can't forget . . . sound of tires on rough pavement, roar of an old motor, and constant gentle movement. Today, when I get really stressed out, I think of that drive late at night, coming home from Grandmas.

14. Lost Garden: While living on the farm at Schley, I often took long walks back onto the property, up hills, through valleys, and into three dimensional forests. Occasionally, I would find magnificent displays of wild floral, growing in unimaginable shapes and forms, often an assortment of species, some as tall as a house, with flowers of every color, large rocks and streams and sand, as if landscaped, hidden from all eyes except my own. I remember standing in silence, perplexed that something so beautiful could be unknown by all except me.

15. Vending Machine and Neon: One night years ago, while traveling from California to North Carolina, my family stopped at an abandoned service station in the middle of the desert - thousands of stars, a hot breeze. I placed coins in the slot. After a few moments, it came to life, as my candy moved to the front and dropped into the service tray. Of all the sites we visited on that trip, my most vivid, and meaningful, memory, forty years later, is that neon-lighted machine, that actually worked, in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere.

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